


fighting your friends for fitness and fun

by caescollection



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Canon-Typical Violence, Exo Anatomy (Destiny), Hunter Guardian/Warlock Guardian (Destiny), Multi, NO CAPES, Robots, Robots With Gore, friends who beat the shit out of each other, pretty self indulgent but i know how much destiny likes hot ladies kicking the shit out of people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:55:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caescollection/pseuds/caescollection
Summary: “Do not go easy on me, Reliquary.”“I never do.”------self indulgent beat em up between a friends character and mine!
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	fighting your friends for fitness and fun

“This really is not necessary,” Ambrose tells the Crucible handler, but he is quickly silenced by him waving his hand. Shaxx shushes him, and simply gestures at the viewing window in front of them. They are in an arena, with Shaxx’s commentator booth above the main area. It is hidden, cloaked into camouflage, and through the viewing window are several LCD screens reflected onto the glass that show different angles of the battlefield. 

Ambrose and Eleanor watch as he moves a display front and center, and they instantly recognize the two figures. There is Reliquary; shoulders rolled back and at ease, stance relaxed, as if this may have been another Sunday match for him. He tilts his head to the side, as if listening for someone approaching, and sure enough, the twins see Chrysanthemum come out from behind him, nodding in his direction. They share a quick word that the three of them cannot hear as Shaxx pulls up a chair. 

“You will want to see this,” he muses, and gestures to the other chairs near the door. Ellie looks at him like he’s crazy, double taking in his direction.  
“Are you trying to get her killed?”  
“Hardly. She’ll be fine, have some faith!”  
The twins share a look that does not exude confidence, and eventually settle into their seats by Shaxx’s side. Shaxx brings up a center console, leaning back in his seat, and presses a button. Suddenly, audio fills the room, making Ellie jump.

“Bzzt-- a fair fight, all things considered,” they hear Reliquary tell her, and Ambrose hears the telltale rattling laugh he’s known to expect from Chrysanthemum.   
“Do not go easy on me, Reliquary.”  
“I never do.”

The audio feed becomes quieter as the visual takes up the entire screen, and it shows them backing up, and the screen widens. The room dims some, and Ellie makes a snide comment about a Golden age movie theater. Ambrose elbows her. 

It is silent in the room, and the screen gets blown wide, taking up the whole wall.   
Chrysanthemum and Reliquary nod once in the other’s direction, and Reliquary settles into a loose fighting stance.   
“You first,” he teases, voice light when he swipes a fist at her. He’s hardly trying, and Chrys simply bats his hand away with a laugh. 

“No, you first,” and her kick doesn’t even connect. They toy at the other like this for a few moments more, testing the waters, waiting for the other to make the first real move. It’s an anxious rush and both of them love every second of it.   
Ambrose and Ellie shift uncomfortably in their chairs, eyes averted from the screens, while Lord Shaxx leans back, legs folded, watching in earnest.   
Sure, this was important; the twins needed to see Chrysanthemum fighting someone formidable on her own, to see she was not the small, hurt thing they thought her to be.   
That did not mean he couldn’t enjoy the show. 

They watch them trade a few blows once more; nothing too serious or intense. Chrys dodges a jab near her face, ducks when his other arm swings to her left. It nearly catches her in the jaw, and she narrows her eyes playfully at Reliquary.

“Oh? We fighting now?”, and Reliquary does not open his mouth to answer her. He pulls his elbow up and backwards, and with a devastating amount of force, slams his fist straight down into the middle of Chrysanthemum’s face. From inside the booth, Ambrose gasps as he watches the Hunter stagger, hands flying to her face as she tries to keep a steady footing. 

Ellie chews her lip, her worry plastered over her face. She reaches out to lightly nudge the Warlord.   
“Shaxx, are you sure that-”  
“Relax. Reliquary is hardly the most dangerous thing she’s faced. You two would know this, if you weren’t off faking your deaths every few centuries,” he says, and the twins cannot tell if the bite to his voice is sarcastic or genuine ire. 

Ambrose opens his mouth to make a rebuttal, but is interrupted again by the speakers. Chrysanthemum coughs, and grabs her nose by the bridge. Everyone in the room cringes slightly when they hear the sound of bone cracking against bone as she sets in back into place, wiping the blood off onto her sleeves.   
“You’re a dickhead. A little warning?!”, she barks, and Reliquary’s face lights up when he hears the annoyance rise in her voice. Chrys stands to her full height again, and Reliquary watches her bob a bit as she settles into a fighting stance, and as soon as he’s taken a step closer again, her boot is planted into his chest, sending him careening backwards. 

On his way down, he is grinning like mad.

Ambrose and Ellie watch in terror as Reliquary slams into her, unrelenting when he strikes her again across the face. Chrysanthemum’s head snaps backwards, and they can hear her low growl over the microphone feed as Reliquary attempts to land another to her gut. She drops low, charges forward, and throws her elbow into his stomach. If he could breathe, it would have knocked the breath out of him. Instead, it is a painful deterrent that only motivates him to hit harder. 

Now that they are actually fighting, it is quite the sight to see; Reliquary is not stalled by blows that would normally incapacitate a human, and the blows he lands are devastating, leaving small gashes in her face and arms where metal scrapes skin. Chrysanthemum’s saving grace is that she is smaller, lighter, faster, and for every hit he lands, she gets two more in the time it takes him to pull his arm back. Her fingernails scrape against steel when she claws at his throat, and Reliquary can feel her press in for just a moment, and it’s one moment too long for his tastes. 

Her bared teeth are inches from his face when he gets a hand over it, and pushes her away with enough force to make her fall backwards. His fingers slide messily between sharp teeth, and she does not hesitate to bite down. Reliquary rushes her as she falls, hand reaching out to grab her by the throat. It is only when he grabs her around the neck that he notices she’s torn one of his fingers off just above the knuckle.  
They make eye contact for just a moment in the rush as they both tumble, and Reliquary sees her smile wickedly with cracked teeth for a split second. Chrys falls flat on her back, and then she rocks backward, her knees catching Reliquary under the ribcage. She does not waste a second, taking the split second diversion to grab Reliquary by the side of the head, and slams his head down on the rocks next to her. 

The orange LED’S in his eyes flicker for a moment, and she shoots to her feet, dashing backwards. Chrysanthemum pants, trying to catch her breath as Reliquary rises to his full height, and Ellie and Ambrose suck air in through their teeth when they see the crater she has put in the side of his head. 

“Traveller above, Shaxx, are all your Crucible matches this…”  
“-intense?”, Ellie groans, pushing her brother out of the way as she watches Reliquary throw Chrys into a wall so hard the rock surface crumbles. Shaxx just gives a mighty laugh, sitting forward. He is watching in earnest, observing the way the two throw themselves at the other. It’s rare to see two opponents so evenly matched, and there is no greater thrill than to watch hand to hand combat between two friendly Guardians honed by centuries of interstellar war.

He wouldn’t lie, it almost made him shiver. 

In front of him, Reliquary lands a solid punch to her jaw, and it makes her wobble for a moment. She attempts to maintain distance by kicking him away. It does the opposite, and Reliquary grabs her around the calf, yanking her leg forward and out painfully. An explosion of pain in her hip makes Chrys wail in pain, trying to hop to balance while Reliquary holds her leg. He has a vice grip on her calf, and keeps her in place for a few moments while her boots slip on even ground.

“You wanna yield?”, he asks, but he knows the answer before he’s even finished speaking. Chrysanthemum has never quit in anything she’s done, and he doubts she is about to make an exception for him now. Sure enough, he watches her grit her teeth, and she rips her leg back from his grip, only to immediately jab her opposite boot into his face plates in a quick hopping motion. The snow cleat crunches down into the moving parts of his mouth and jaw, and Chrysanthemum can feel the way one of plate crumples under her heel, breaking downwards and into the wiring of Reliquary's optics, circuitry sparking. Reliquary laughs, a broken, terrifying sound that makes the twins’ breath catch in their throat.   
It just makes Chrysanthemum beam.

“That was a good one! I can feel that, damn!”, he roars, and his metal jaw catches once or twice as he closes his mouth. It hangs free, a mess of circuitry and wiring. Reliquary does not bother to snap it back in place, letting it swing with his movements in a garish display, and Chrys cannot hide the grin on her face. She knows he likes the rush, the pain, the physicality of a close fight like this. She is more than happy to oblige to this side of him, and she can hear him groan when she turns, swinging her opposite leg around to dig her heel into his other cheek. He staggers, laughs, and kicks in return, and it catches Chrys in the shoulder. He brings his foot down, and it pins her to the stony floor of the arena. Her head slams into the ground with a crack, and Chrys’ vision goes fuzzy as a ringing pierces her ears. 

Reliquary watches her face scrunch up and cringe in pain as she leans her head back, back arching up off the stone.  
"Hey. Gonna yield?" 

Chrysanthemum sets her jaw to stifle a shriek of frustration, and Reliquary’s ankle suddenly explodes in white hot pain. His eyes dart down to his feet, and Chrys has dug a knife into the metallic ball socket of his ankle, digging into his Achilles’ tendon with a ferocity he knows all too well. She yanks out the blade, and when Reliquary moves his foot for just a moment, she rolls out from under him. Reliquary cannot stay on steady footing, the synthetic muscles severed from tendons.  
This only deters him slightly in his onslaught.

The camera struggles to catch the speed now; the pair sliding and throwing knives and bursts of Void light. All bets are off. Reliquary fights harder now, moves more erratic now that his balance is gone, and he slams full force into Chrys. She headbutts him back, hard, and blood streams from her brow and drips onto her chestplate. Her mouth has been bloodied from the beginning- ripping his finger off cut her tongue, cracked her teeth.   
Her smile is only more eerie because of it.

It is a true fight now, with Rel throwing punches that crackle purple with Void. It slams into her shoulder, and the mic crackles with the energy arcing over the battlefield. Purple light consumes them both, Reliquary lashing out now harder, faster, with no reservations. Void energy seems to roll from his fingers like gentle waves before exploding harshly into existence. 

Shaxx is breathless, staring at the projection screen with his arms braced against his seat. Ambrose and Ellie can do nothing but watch in terror when Chrysanthemum ducks a blow that shatters the rock where she stood moments before. Reliquary is fast, deadly, mechanically fast, but his skill- while innate, is static- is not fast enough to compete with centuries of natural evolution. She twists and weaves when he launches himself forward with a fist soaked in Void light, and when it slams into the wall by her head, the pulse of light expands rapidly.

Chrysanthemum tries to move, but this time, it expands, catching the hem of her cloak. It immediately washes over her, like fire catching rags. Ellie gasps, hand flying to her mouth as purple light streaks up her back, and Chrysanthemum's eyes go saucer wide. The camera pans out as she seems to stumble, arms dropping like stones by her side as the Void saps her strength, drawing exhaustion out from deep in her muscles. She staggers, and the microphone picks up the smallest of "fuck, shit-"

The grenade begins to engulf her cloak. eating it up in pulses of Void light that soak the fabric. She hesitates in ripping it off, just for a moment, before burying her fingers in the thick fabric and tearing it off behind her neck.

The Void pulls at her fingers as they pass through the purple cloud, sapping all the energy from her and replacing it with a kind of hollow ache that makes her hands feel as if they are asleep. She cannot grip her hand, cannot move her right arm at all as the numbness seeps up her arm, and Reliquary watches her defiant eyes go panicked for a moment.

"Are you going to call it?", Ambrose asks suddenly, voice full of urgency when turning to face Shaxx. "This doesn't seem fair, she's gotta have-"

His protest is stopped short when the room fills with the sound of a muffled shout, and when they turn to look at the display, Ambrose and Ellie feel their stomachs drop. 

Reliquary has her by the neck, mechanical hand curling around her throat to shove her head directly into the pool of Void light. She is laughing, but the noise is drowned out by the hum of Void. Her golden eyes burn even through the purple, they both literally and figuratively flash when Reliquary pulls her slowly towards him, just enough to see her clearly.

The Void pulls at bone as it passes, makes her feel hollow, weak, and she is unable to think, move, cannot find a way out. It is akin to almost a metaphysical bleed, pulling and leeching off of her strength.

Reliquary watches through the purple haze as she takes one final, raspy intake of air as it fills her lungs. He thinks he has it now, and as Chrysanthemum's vision goes white, she hears him, hears the scraping, hollow sound of his laugh. He is relishing in this, but it’s not like she can blame him; she too enjoys the sting of a cut on her cheek, how her bones ache from Void. What they have between them is hard fought and hard won, and they know this. 

It’s because of the pain that dizzies her vision- and not despite it- that she tosses him a lopsided smile.   
She knows this feeling, and so does he. It’s all they knew for a very long time.

"You’re just gonna break your fingers too. I’d give up,” he teases, not even flinching when her foot knocks his knee. It bends backwards at an angle that should not be humanly possible; but Reliquary is no human. 

“Want to bet on it?”, she tells him, and kicks again.

Reliquary’s grip tightens on her throat, metal joints pinching her skin. Chrys hisses in pain, and Reliquary watches a spark shoot from her hand. Reliquary feels it for a second; the familiar flash of flame searing his gauntlets, and he can taste the heat on his tongue. It is a heat that clings to his joints, makes his head feel full. It dizzies him for just a moment.  
It’s all she needs.

Before he can so much as react, Chrys' hands fly to his face, hands white hot when they dig into the hole she has left from her boot. The fingers that plunge into his circuitry are searing, beginning to make the steel alloy around his eyes melt and bubble from the waves of heat that fry his internal wiring. It creaks and groans in a deep mechanical whine that makes everyone's spine shudder. Silver slides down her fingers, her wrist, burning and puckering skin as the metal cools around it. She cares little.

When he careens back, Chrysanthemum holds on for dear life. Gravity pulls him backwards and her forwards, and she is pulled from the pool of Void. The sudden feeling of air in her lungs with the first inhale of breath is dizzying, and she loses her grip on Reliquary's face.

Or rather, what is left of his face- it has sizzled almost completely through, in messy chunks from where her grip slipped and faltered. The molten metal drips down the side of his cheek, ripped down almost to the shattered frame of his jaw. He lays still there on the floor for a moment, and the arena seems so still it is as if someone has frozen time. 

Finally, Reliquary laughs. It is a mirthful, playful thing to Chrysanthemum- she's heard that laugh for what feels like her entire Risen life- but inside the booth, Ambrose shudders as a cold chill snakes down his back. To him, it is grating, a horrible cacophony of metal scraping against twisted metal, and the damage to his vocal box makes his voice catch and electronically stutter. It’s terrifying. 

“You dirty dog,” he calls out to her, voice goading and egging her on even now still, orange-yellow LEDS flickering out of rhythm. “That's all you got?”  
“You want me to send you to Amanda in a scrap heap? Or should Orion rez you?”

Reliquary pushes himself up, and Chrys can see a hole clean through his head. Snapped and melted circuity sparks aimlessly inside the fist sized hole in his cheek, but Reliquary pays no mind; his head is only one of many central processors in his body, he can live without it.

Regardless, the image is grim; Reliquary is damaged in several places, his jaw swinging loosely from where it would sit on his face, right eye punched completely out, molten metal sliding down his face like automaton tears. Rel takes a look at his body, assessing it for a moment, before taking one burning eye back up to Chrysanthemum.  
“Aw, you really think that?”  
“What?”  
“That Amanda would use me for scrap?”, and Chrys swears that if Exos could pout...

Chrys pauses for a moment before looking him up and down. When she takes a step forward, Reliquary watches something white hot slip from down her sleeve. He figures it’s a knife- and he knows what those knives can do; he’s seen them in action, felt them in action. He’s not particularly worried when he watches her draw her arm backwards to throw it. The knives hurt, but they won’t kill him, not when he has other processors online ready to take the-

The explosion that rocks the arena is so severe that Shaxx has to hold onto his seat to keep steady. Next to him, Ellie and Ambrose stumble backwards against the wall, shielding their eyes from the bright light. It consumes everything, filling the viewing box with white light as it pulses, the monitors on the walls flickering as the building shudders.

When the light fades, there is a smoking scar in the middle of the earth. The camera zooms in, trying to get a clear view from the smoke. It takes a moment for it to fade, but when the picture is revealed through a grainy feed, Ellie quickly grabs Ambrose’s hand.

In the charred gash, lies Reliquary, chest blown open in a garish display. His metal rib cage is caved inwards, thick stalks of titanium alloy torn to shreds as easily as ribbon. Ropes of orange and blue circuitry are tangled inside the chest cavity, spilling downwards and out the sides, settling next to his hips. His face is a mess; mangled and torn, hardly recognizable. The only way one could tell it was Reliquary was if they had a fairly intimate understanding of his internal systems, their shapes, their colors, the outline of his chassis. 

There were only two people in a 500 mile radius with that kind of intimate knowledge. 

The camera feed zooms out quickly and readjusts, snapping to a figure stumbling toward the crater through the smoke. When the smoke clears enough for the camera to pick up, Chrysanthemum comes staggering forward.

She is burned badly across her arms, fingers a soot black, hair that had been tied loose is smoldering and catching fire at the ends. Her armor is so intensely singed that it has bubbles and pockets where the metal had almost given. The tatters of her cape, somehow, are unharmed.

Her voice is hoarse when it comes through the speaker.

“There isn’t any scrap metal left to give, friend.”

The feed cuts.


End file.
